


How We Receive

by Parker_Wumbo



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 16:46:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13194339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parker_Wumbo/pseuds/Parker_Wumbo
Summary: "What we receive from you and what you receive from us."Keith just wants to be understood. His own appearance and impression is what isolates him from everyone.Lance wants to be acknowledged. He has his job of lightening everyone up, but it comes with consequences--such as the team viewing him as a goofball.Throw in an addiction to a team exercise, some personal insecurities, some low-self esteem, and some tall walls.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ...---...
> 
> A Voltron fanfic, all about the perspective from the Paladins. It has a lot of time skips but no clear date. This is because the book mainly focuses on the character's feelings and stuff, especially Keith and Lance. Also I'm bad with romance so there's not gonna great 'mushy' stuff. But I hope you enjoy! Thanks for reading. :]

Boarding school is a freaking waste cell, Lance thought as he stalked into his class, swinging his over-sized jacket onto his seat before collapsing onto his desk.

I don't understand why we do this.

Plenty of kids drop out each day.

What good is it to offer an education, when no one wants it?

Behold, the school's infamous Lance McClain. Infamous because no one ever bothered to be greatly invested in him. He wouldn't bother either; he was no nerd, no rich brat, no player, or even an athletics jock. 

 

Simply put, Lance McClain was a nobody.  
...—...

"Alright," his commander bellowed as the students lined in. They brought out their notebooks and pencils as they gave their undivided attention to the man's words.

All, except Lance McClain (a very much disliked goofball).

The teen rested his chin on his arms, laying down on the desk. Commander Iverson paid no attention to Lance, due to past experiences of this nap taking place (in numerous places as well), and started his lecture.

Lance felt sluggish and worn out this morning, proving that the rest of his day would be a huge struggle for him, if he didn't use his safety net. So, he planned for a small Lance-session at the end of his classes, where he'd lock himself in a room and jam out until he fell asleep. Homework had flown out from his head long ago, and now, Lance's paradise awaiting him back at his dorms was 'priority numero uno.'

I need that freaking me-time, Lance thought over and over as if it were a mantra. The lecture stretched on for what seemed like hours to Lance (when, in reality, was a whole thirty minutes).

However, despite Lance's chaotic morning—-full of a rushed shower, followed by a nonexistent breakfast, and topped with a scorned hole in his favored sweater—there was one more thing off. Disregarding him, it was the students; a certain atmosphere was around them.

Lance had been too tired to pay attention, but would later on find that it would be a vital part of today's diary entry (something Lance would call a book of recordings, for school purposes, even though he didn't give a crap about school at all).

...—...

Lance McClain's sleepy state passed by once lunch arrived, which was after his six classes (followed by a long tutoring session, meant for him; a session he used to doze off to). The aroma of cooked rice, pre-made corn bread, and smoked meat had triggered his sensors, allowing the sluggishness to leave his system.

Lance stalked over to a different classroom, across the hall, before arriving to the cafeteria, and met up with his training buddy (one he clung to, because no one else ever really paid attention to him), Hunk.

The man had a strong build and broad shoulders, yet his meekness and overwhelming generosity led him to be a nobody with Lance McClain. Hunk and Lance shared an affinity towards food (in general), but Hunk overpowered Lance's simple interest with his love for cooking and baking chef-worthy dishes.

Together, the two ran to the cafeteria, mouth full of drool and eyes constantly drifting towards the aisle of poorly-prepared cornbread and meat. [The Garrison were mainly focused on the training, that they couldn't compensate in the food area, as the staff was overloaded with trainers and instructors, with very few chefs.]

Yet, as they swung the door open with much ecstasy, their excitement was shot down by the hordes of students crowding around in a circle. Lance forced his way through, as Hunk contemplated doing the same.

"Hey, what's happening?!" Lance shouted, finding a single person in the middle of the circle—a brunette, with a look of anticipation, mixed with excitement, on her face. For some reason, her cause had caused such a ruckus among the students, with not only girls, but boys as well. "What's this about?"

A girl, obviously annoyed by his presence, had given a quick, simple answer: "A new student, possibly a transferee. Could be a boy, a hot one."

Lance only rolled his eyes before cutting through the group and falling in a miraculously short line for the food. By then, he was already forgotten. 

"New kid, huh?" Hunk pondered out loud before taking a bite of his food. "Probably just another pilot. It'll blow off."

Lance nodded. "I hope it does." And with that, the talk of a new student had faded away from the boys' attention, replaced with over-baked cornbread, with hardened, burnt crusts on the edges, sided with canned beans and over-sauced meat. Along with the new student, the pile of steamed rice, dry and bland, was left forgotten.

A new pilot? Just more trouble.

...—...

What the freaking heck. 

 

It both amazed and angered Lance McClain how much grace, yet aloofness, the adolescent carried as he waltzed into the room. The boy's identity was out in the open, yet there was so much missing.

Oh, he's gonna totally cause trouble, Lance wailed inwardly. Just look at that freaking mullet.

It seemed as though Lance's predictions were correct; all the girls had already been fawning over him, and the boys casted uncertain glances amongst each other (as though they didn't know whether to welcome him or hate him for the attention he was getting).

What angered Lance more was that he saw absolutely, positively nothing interesting about that boy. Nothing in his black beady eyes, his unnaturally pale skin, or in his raven black hair. There was nothing significant to see or admire.

Yet, why was Lance so angered? That simple question bothered him himself. The sight of the man made his heart grow weary, his blood boil, and his mind lose track of itself.

Dang it, I need a—

Wait for later.

Geez, you've barely even met him and now you're all worked up—

At least be polite to him—

"Hey, I'm Keith," and just like that, Lance's anger sprung back to life. Look at how nonchalant he is. Not even trying to be polite. And the girls are just going wild! I don't even understand.

"Well hello there, Keith," the sarcastic statement fled past Lance's lips on accident, and just like that, everyone's eyes were on him. Keith, however, just took it as a 'nice greeting.'

"Hello there. What's your name?" Keith asked, and Lance felt the irritation grow. Is he trying to undermine me? Or did he not sense the sarcasm and is stupid like those other dudes?

"Lance. Lance McClain." Lance nearly sneered, yet somehow, Keith remained oblivious. Said boy sauntered his tall figure closer towards Lance's, a hand outstretched.

"Nice to meet you, McClain." Keith stated, a ghost of a smile on his face. From the way his lips looked, it seemed as though he rarely ever smiled—which was why his attempt of seeming welcoming looked more rash, aggressive, and animalistic than he'd intended.

Lance saw through all of that, yet out of his anger, he'd slapped that hand away. "Welcome to Garrison," Lance muttered under his breath before averting his eyes away.

Keith had finally taken the hint. Lance had been taunting him, he realized. With that, his welcoming smile morphed into that of a frown, to which Lance nearly smirked at, until—

 

Did he just smirk at me?  
...—...

Hunk watched from afar. Cringing at Lance's snappy remarks, he could only watch as the new boy—Keith, was it?—stalk towards Lance in pure intimidation. Well, that was how Hunk saw it.

Keith had a naturally intimidating figure, with broad shoulders, lean muscles, and a challenging height. His raven hair and black eyes seemed to only add to that, his eyes looking like smoldering orbs that would burn anyone nearby.

If Keith had taken so much of a step towards Hunk himself, the teen would have exploded in tears. In fright, not of joy. Keith Kogane was cold and mean and tough and cool and all the things every boy wanted to be, and so much more.

Lance, stay away from that dude, was what Hunk wanted to say. Yet, Lance kept challenging the boy, as though Keith were not a scary dude with horrible style in hair.

Then, Hunk saw a falter in Keith's act, when Lance had slapped away Keith's hand. With Lance's other sarcastic comment, Keith's intimidating smile sunk into a frown—which was immediately covered with a smirk.

Hunk caught Lance's hands fidgeting beneath the desk, reaching into the pocket—

"Well welcome, Keith! Hope we get along!" Hunk butt in, hiding a smirk of success when Lance halted in his movements.

On instinct, Lance snapped his head to Hunk. "Hunk! Why'd you just welcome him—ugh..."

"Because your welcome sucked," Hunk shot back as Keith walked away, setting down his red jacket (that totally opposed the Garrison's uniform) on a seat in the back of the room. "Why'd you say that anyway?"

Lance looked at Hunk as though the answer was obvious. "Can't you see? He's a fake! A big fake! His tough act is all a bluff."

Hunk shrugged as he sneaked a glance back to said boy. "He seems to be the real deal. You see that smoldering look he has? I mean, you should have, he was using it on you."

Lance only scoffed. "What look? All I saw was a nervous dude who couldn't find the line between a greeting and an insult."

"You're just jealous," Hunk teased. "One look and he gets the girls and boys in the class, I counted five, yet you have to handstand for five minutes to get someone to notice you—not because you looked cool, but you were so red and sweaty and gross, someone just had to bring you to the nurse."

A poor attribute Hunk carried around with him—his blatant honesty. It didn't help with the fact that he had a horrible sense of humor and keen eyes for an opportunity to tease (all these attributes were hidden from view, which made Lance scowl at how scornfully malicious Hunk secretly was). However, Hunk's overpowering hesitance always seemed to hold that honesty and humor back when on the field.

[on the field? We've barely been in a simulation, and Hunk's thrown up already.]

Nonetheless, Hunk's words were awfully correct. Keith had stolen those girls Lance tried very hard to impress with a simple greeting and glance. He's not even playing a bad boy role, Lance thought. Yet the girls are already all over him.

It was a small thing. Lance knew it would blow over. Like what happened to him, his arrival was simple something the Garrison had to get used to—and when they did, Keith would no longer be the talk at a freaking cafeteria between thirty people blocking the darn line for others who needed food. I need my food, Lance whined.

What even makes him special? Lance thought as he tried to degrade the image of the new boy in his head. Instead, it only filled his mind with more thoughts.

His hair? An awful mullet. Did he cut it on his own?—most likely, with those bloody strands sticking out on the side.

His eyes? So plain and common. Nothing special. [Lance himself had dark blue eyes, yet had he ever been recognized the slightest for those features?]

His face? A pretty much normal face.

His lips? Pretty much normal lips. A small scar on the cupid bow, yet barely even noticeable (Lance had very much stupidly squinted at the boy to catch this attribute).

His clothes? Beyond horrible. Who wears a jacket that goes over their own hands, yet barely manages to cover up the rest of their torso? Not to mention the pants.

His skin? Pale, smooth skin, was all Lance could gather. He would give him credit for the non-existent breakouts, however (does he have a certain face mask? I'll have to search that up) the boy looked so pale that he seemed a bit sick.

There was nothing unordinary about the prospect of Keith Kogane. Nothing special, nothing admirable. He was normal, so why did everyone else treat him like he was some special snowflake?

I'm probably over exaggerating, Lance thought. He's not a big deal. He's normal and plain. That's it. He'll be dead news by the end of the week.

...—...

Thanks for taking the time to read this, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Just a note, this won't necessarily include ALL of the events in the show, I kinda wrote this to center around how the paladins felt and stuff...which means there'll be a lot of time skips and stuff...also some major editing and stuff. :/ still, hope you enjoy! :]

...—...


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance has a bad habit. Keith's the reason why...kind of.

Darn it. Lance thought. He's still here? 

Around every corner Lance turned, every room he walked into, and every hallway he ran down, the mullet was in every one of them. (A bit of an exaggeration, Lance thought, but he continued on). 

Keith Kogane—are you trying to haunt me?

 

It didn't help with the fact that every time Lance stepped into the room, the moment Keith noticed him, Keith would immediately send a daunting smirk—as if saying, go ahead, try me again. Lance, however, had no idea how Keith managed to catch his eyes every time with those malicious eyes. 

Keith, Lance thought. Just stay outta my way. 

...—...

News traveled by the end of the month. Everyone had already known about the new transfer student, yet the news of his scores on the examination went around like a disease—

 

How could he pass through so easily?! 

Keith Kogane had only been at the Garrison for a month and a half, yet when the occasional examinations rolled around, somehow, he'd 'passed with flying colors'—as stated by Commander Iverson, who was so difficult to please. 

I said, move outta my way Keith, not get more in it!

Lance had been a nobody, yet with Keith's arrival, he seemed to drop down to nothing at all. 

That mullet...he scowled as he looked at the list. With Keith tipping the scale, Lance had now dropped down into cargo pilot, no longer fighting class. What about my classes?! 

Lance had chosen all classes in preparation for fighter class. Now, with him dropping to cargo, he'd have to switch out one of his classes, and wait the next eight months until he can take the exam to switch once more. 

 

I'm sorry Mama, Lance thought. You'll just have to wait a bit more. Your boy will get in that paper. 

...—...

Though Keith had been the great talk among the Garrison, Lance no longer had to see him after the exams. The difference in class and the fact that Keith had to go nonstop on missions (that Lance called his own) would mean they probably would never see each other again. 

Lance was happy with that fact. He didn't know what to expect when the mullet would start bragging, and he didn't want to know. He'd probably be so boastful, Lance predicted lousily. That'd he'd go ahead and shove it all over my face. That mullet. 

 

 

The months had passed by slowly. At first, Lance had been bothered by Keith's absence, but by the time the introduction of 'cargo pilots and their stupid jobs' had piled up upon him and his dreams, Keith was long forgotten. The nearly-nonexistent absence from the mullet had faded into a memory stashed away, replaced with semester scores and neglected notes. 

By the time the year ended, Lance McClain had become a whole new person—less loud (yet his corny remarks are still heard all the way down the hallway), more reserved, less aggressive (only to a small degree), and all in all, more of a nobody. After months on end complaining about a course he'd been forced to take, Lance finally got over it and decided to carry the year out with the best of his efforts. 

[Still, that arrogance did not leave him, neither did the immense ego. ]

Once being presented by the old memory of Keith, a question popped into mind—did Keith change as well? Did he change as drastically (or as barely) as Lance had? 

The question was answered not too long—because once yearly applications and schedules were handed out, news went around the entire Garrison:

Keith Kogane had been dropped out. 

 

 

 

 

[Ma, I got a fight pilot position now.]  
...—...

Keith's prolonged absence had mainly influenced the girl population of the Garrison (as well as some dudes). However, this displeasure washed over quickly. No one had ever been personally close to the Kogane, and so, they had nothing to miss other than his horrible (or attractive, according to the girls) hair, his smoldering coal eyes, and his 'cool' attitude. It seemed as though his presence had barely affected the Garrison at all, besides from being the top pilot. 

Lance had earned his spot as fighter-class and had been proud of it. If only that mullet were here, he thought. Then I'd be able to shove it in his face. 

Not only that, but along with earning a new position, he'd earned Hunk as his engineer—somehow, the Garrison (specifically, Commander Iverson) had decided putting Lance and Hunk on the same team, despite their ongoing friendship, would be a good idea. 

Good thing I'm not paired with some stranger dude—

Well, if Pidge Gunderson was counted out. 

Gunderson—a short, small, and aloof teammate Lance barely ever saw. The only times they saw each other were on training missions and simulations that they'd failed horribly—if we could hang out just once, maybe we'd do better, Lance would always complain. 

Lance never knew much about Pidge. All he knew was that the brunette had a weirdly high-pitched and somewhat feminine voice, as well as a short and slim stature. The boy had always strayed away from anywhere or anyone besides his room, as though he were doing some top-secret high-class mission on that laptop of his.

What kind of stuff is on that laptop that's more important than his own teammates? Lance had once tried to figure it out, but ended up giving up moments later—Pidge was the technical personal of the group, who'd know if someone just logged onto his computer while he was gone. Plus, the fact that Pidge stayed glued to that electronic device didn't help either. 

Just Hunk and me, Lance thought. Like old times. 

It had always been Hunk and Lance. 

...—...

Hunk was glad Keith had been dropped out—not entirely, as he felt bad that the mullet had been forcefully dropped out, not of his own will. However, Keith's ongoing absence from the Garrison, more specifically and especially Lance, was what Hunk was relieved about. 

The reason was simple. 

The day when the yearly applications and schedules were let out, accompanied by the students' scores—

Lance lost his position as a fighter class. 

Not only was that the problem, but what Lance did next was what Hunk was worried about. 

...—...

"--yeah, I'm just gonna go for some fresh air."

Hunk sent him an unimpressed, almost disappointed look, as Lance slipped away, hands in his pockets. 

...---...

If Lance had any regrets, it would definitely be this one.

 

Yet, if he had the chance to rid him of this regret, and gain his salvation, would he ever use it?

 

 

The Answer: No. Lance would never get rid of it, no matter how toxic, how burning, how dangerous it was.

Such a contradiction, he thought. Yet, instead of trying to stop himself, he continued carrying out his bag habit.

[ I need to stop.

I know. ]

Lance McClain couldn't let it go. Something was ruling over him, but instead of declaring his own independence, he only let it weigh him down further. There were chains, but he didn't try to break them. There were cages, yet he didn't fight free. Instead, as the suffocating smoke filled his lungs, he only inhaled more of it.

[ But is there really anything left for me now? ]

Yet, as he though that statement, he knew he was wrong, so wrong. He knew he was lying to himself, as he did to himself and many more all the time. Flashes of his family--his mother, his siblings, his grandthmother, Hunk--told him otherwise.

Their faces were soon left forgotten, however, in the burning wake of a scorned addiction, accompanied by a hazed victim.

I know it's wrong.

[ But, damn, it feels good. ]


End file.
